


A Smoke Made From the Fume of Sighs

by thornfield_girl



Category: Justified
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Boys Being Boys, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marijuana, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan and Boyd's dates cancel, and they have the whole evening ahead of them with just a bag of weed and each other to entertain themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Smoke Made From the Fume of Sighs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to norgbelulah for helping me find a way to make this bath fic happen.

"You sure your daddy ain't gonna come home, Boyd? He won't like finding me here, you know that." 

Raylan is standing in Bo Crowder's kitchen with a handle of Jim Beam in a paper bag. Bo is visiting his mother, with Bowman in tow, and should be gone for two days. 

Raylan and Boyd have plans to do some drinking, and a couple of girls they know are supposed to be coming by later. 

"Oh, no, Raylan," Boyd says, lingering over the name in the way he always does, "my Gram would never let him live it down. Only reason I got out of it is I said I had to work."

Raylan grins and opens a cabinet in search of glasses. "What time are Bridget and... what's her name... Crystal. When are they supposed to get here?"

"'Bout half an hour," Boyd says, grinning back. "Nothing wrong with a little pre-game, I always say. Get to pouring, son."

Raylan hands him a glass and they lift them and gesture with them in a sort of toast.. They sit at the kitchen table, drinking, talking shit about people they know, including each other. Around forty-five minutes passes, and they're laughing hard when the phone rings. 

"That's got to be Bridget," Boyd says, "they must be running late."

Boyd picks up the phone and says, "Hello... Hey darlin', you on the way? Oh... I see... Well, that is disappointing. Mmmhm. Alright, then. No, we'll be fine. Night, then."

He turns to Raylan and says, "I guess you caught the general drift of that conversation."

"They ain't comin'," Raylan says flatly, scowling.

Boyd nods and sighs, falling back into his chair. "I suppose we'll have to content ourselves with manly pursuits, Raylan," Boyd says, a serious look on his face. 

"Such as?" Raylan asks.

Boyd grins, toothy and semi-demonic in his usual way, and says, "I had a little something in reserve, in case the girls seemed like they needed a little extra encouragement." He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulls out a plastic bag with a few greenish-brown clumps in it and tosses it to Raylan. 

Raylan opens it up and sticks his nose in. "Goddamn, boy. This ain't local." He pulls out one of the buds and looks closely. His grin grows as big as Boyd's and he says, "Sticky."

Boyd looks absurdly proud of himself and replies, "I got a second cousin lives on the Tennessee border, in Franklin. He gets it in Nashville, all them musicians got particular tastes. I ain't smoked any yet, I was waiting."

"No need to wait any longer. Load it up."

Boyd laughs and says, "Alright, keep your shirt on. You mind if we take a walk or something? I don't really feel like having to leave the windows open all day tomorrow."

Boyd hands Raylan a little clay pipe and he fills it up, then they head out back, walking a little distance from the house. Boyd leads the way through a small stand of trees, to a small stream where there is a low, flat rock big enough for both of them to sit on. 

Raylan gives him back the bowl, and Boyd fires it up, takes a hit and holds it while he hands it over to Raylan. He lets it out with a little cough, and a smile spreads slowly, peacefully, across his face. 

Raylan hits it, then closes his eyes as he feels the burn through his lungs, and the tension he holds in his face eases away. 

Boyd nudges him with his foot and says, "You should get high more often, Raylan. It almost makes you look happy."

Raylan lets out a cloud of smoke and laughs softly. "It almost makes you look honest," he replies, then laughs again because he's not even sure what he means by that. 

They pass it back and forth awhile. Raylan can feel his skin humming, like it's expanding. He waves it off when Boyd offers him the pipe again, and leans back on the cold rock. 

"I'm a little fucked up," Boyd says, grinning, and Raylan lets out a high, quiet laugh. "You want to try a little hike, Raylan?"

Raylan groans and says, "Really?"

"Yeah, man, come on," Boyd answers, reaching down to push at his shoulder. "Can't see the stars from here." 

Raylan sighs and says, "Alright," but doesn't move. Boyd puts a boot into his thigh and pushes, and Raylan's not ready for it. He falls onto the soft, damp ground and lays there, cracking up. It doesn't help when Boyd peers over the edge and starts laughing at him.

Operating purely on instinct, with reflexes that are working much more quickly than his buzzing brain, Raylan's arm shoots up and pulls him down, wrestling him onto the ground. 

Boyd's hand grabs at his head, and they grapple with each other, shouting and laughing, letting the aggression bred and trained into their muscles overtake whatever friendly feelings their minds might normally hold for each other. 

Boyd is a scrappy, intelligent fighter most of the time - Raylan has seen him in brawls, and he usually comes out relatively unscathed regardless of the physical strength of his opponent - but Raylan has the upper hand now. He has better reach, and more power, and eventually maneuvers Boyd into submission. 

They're laughing helplessly by this point, and Raylan falls to the side, panting, only then noticing the tightness in his groin. He's never been this turned on by fighting, though it always does rile him up a little. Obviously it's the weed, and now he is sorely regretting the fact that those girls cancelled.

It takes another moment or two to notice the burning sensation in his thigh, and then a deep ache begins to set in. It also feels wet, and he says, "I think I tore up my leg on something." 

"Oh, shit," Boyd says, still riding the tail end of the hilarity. "Bad?"

"I can't tell," Raylan says, and winces as he sits up. "Fuck."

Boyd stands and reaches a hand down to pull him up. Raylan stands and finds he can put some weight on the leg, but it hurts to do it. Boyd stands close so Raylan can sling an arm across his shoulders, and they hobble back to the house.

Boyd hesitates on the threshold and looks at Raylan critically in the glow from the back porch light. "You're covered in mud, Raylan. Shit, I am too."

"That's what usually happens when you wrestle in the woods after a week of rain," Raylan says, grimacing at the pain in his leg. All he wants to do is get inside and see what the damage is.

"Well, perhaps I ain't as experienced as you in such matters," Boyd says in a distracted tone, "as it didn't occur to me in the moment. In any case, I don't want to track this shit through the house. We gotta strip down out here. I'll throw our clothes in the wash and you can wear something of mine for now."

Raylan huffs and replies, "Can't you just mop the damn floor tomorrow?"

"I could," Boyd says, "but I don't want to. Sit down, I'll help you with the boots, alright?"

Boyd helps Raylan lower himself to the ground, then kneels in front of him to unlace the heavy, black work boots. He gets a good look at the blood-stained gash in Raylan's jeans, which is a good three inches long, and hisses. "That looks pretty bad, Raylan. We gotta take care of that."

"No shit," he says, "and my buzz is almost gone." Boots off, Raylan struggles out of his jeans, leaving his briefs in place. As the denim peels off the wounded area, he closes his eyes to the pain. He takes off his flannel shirt and tosses it in the heap with the rest of their clothes. 

Boyd helps him up again, and there's a brief blackness in his vision as the blood rushes out of his head. His legs start to go, and he feels Boyd's arm come around him tight so he doesn't fall. 

"Take a few breaths, Raylan," Boyd is saying, "but not too deep." He does, and his head clears, but his leg is still killing him.

They struggle upstairs to the bathroom, and Boyd starts running water in the big antique claw foot tub. When Raylan looks at him questioningly, he says, "You gotta get that cleaned up. I don't think you want me scrubbing at it with a washcloth, do you?"

Raylan sits on the toilet seat and lowers his head into his hands. Boyd frowns at him and asks, "You gonna pass out?"

"No," Raylan mumbles, "I'm fine."

Boyd is standing next to him in a moment, grasping him around his bicep and pulling. "Let's go. In the tub."

Raylan makes a face and raises his eyebrow. "You're sure in a hurry. Ain't like you never seen me naked before."

"Hilarious, asshole," Boyd says sharply. "You want to get an infection?"

Raylan shakes him off when they reach the bathtub and manages to pull his underwear off before climbing in. When the injured leg hits the warm water, he shouts in agony, he can't help it. 

Boyd looks a little worried, so Raylan blinks a few times, bites his lip and gasps out, "It's okay. I'm okay. Just hurt like a motherfucker for a second. _Shit._ "

"Here," Boyd says, holding out the bowl and lighter. "You said your buzz was gone, from the pain. I'll be back in a few minutes to bandage that thing."

Raylan takes it, lights up and leans into the back of the tub. He hits it a couple more times, and closes his eyes, thinking about what a weird fucking night it's been. It had started out so normally, and now he's in Boyd's bathtub soaking dirt out of his ripped up thigh. 

He'd been having a good time before that happened, though. He smokes a little more of Boyd's pot and thinks about the evening, the way it had gone.

Boyd is his best friend, and he's never really had a close friend like that. He's never had a friendship with another guy where they talked about real shit, and he finds he likes it. 

His mind goes to the wrestling, or whatever you call it. He's not sure why it would be on his mind, it wasn't any big deal. It was just horseplay, the kind of thing boys do. He starts to drift off, thinking of it, the warmth of the water sinking into his muscles. 

"Jesus, Raylan, don't drown yourself." Boyd's voice cuts through his drowsy fog of intoxication, and Raylan pulls himself up straighter in the tub. 

"Yeah. That weed is really strong, man," he says, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up. 

"Having a good dream?" Boyd asks, his voice lower and slightly mocking, eyes flicking downward.

"Wh-" he starts, but quickly realizes what it is that Boyd's talking about. "Oh. I don't remember." He laughs stupidly and hands the pipe and lighter to Boyd. "I think I'm about done with that for the evening, so knock yourself out."

"Maybe just a little. While you drain the tub."

"I don't wanna drain it," Raylan whines, "It feels nice in here. My leg hardly hurts anymore."

"Yeah," Boyd replies, "but I can't bandage it while it's wet, and besides, I'd like to wash up myself. I was rolling around on the same ground you were."

Raylan sighs, and says, "Oh, alright." He leans forward and pulls the stopper. Boyd refreshes the bowl and takes another hit. "You sure you're gonna be able to tend to my injury, high as you are? I can barely feel my fingers, I can't imagine doing that."

Boyd blows out smoke and gives him a laconic smile, but his eyes... Raylan can't read them, because they look to him like they're full of affection, almost the way his mother looks at him sometimes. But Boyd wouldn't look at him that way. He never has before, and why would he?

"I'll take care of it, Raylan," he says. "Don't worry." 

Raylan shrugs, because he's really not worried at all. He pulls himself up to standing, and Boyd brings him a towel. He's still almost as hard as he was when he woke up, but he's both way too high, and too comfortable around Boyd to feel too embarrassed about it. 

When he's mostly dry, shivering a little, Boyd hands him an old flannel robe from a hook on the back of the door. Raylan sits on the toilet seat again. Boyd takes a bottle of peroxide, some gauze and tape from the cabinet and kneels in front of him.

Now, Raylan wishes his erection would go away, but it only seems to be getting more pronounced. He tries to ignore it, but when Boyd starts dabbing at his thigh with peroxide-soaked gauze, he almost wants to tell him to stop. He knows how bad it must look, how weird, and he doesn't want to freak out Boyd. He bunches the bathrobe up around his crotch, hoping Boyd won't notice.

"Alright, Raylan? Is it hurting real bad? I can get you some of that Jimmy, take the edge off. I brought the bottle up."

"No," he says, striving to keep his voice even, "I'll be okay."

Boyd shoots a glance at his face, then back down at the wound. "It ain't as bad as I thought, now the blood and dirt are off. It's long, but not too deep. At first I was afraid you'd need stitches."

He busies himself with the bandage, and Raylan concentrates hard, trying to will his dick soft. He tries to think of the usual things people tell you to think about when you're fucking, so you don't come too soon. Tries to think about his Gramma, and baseball statistics, shit like that, but his mind keeps coming around to the woods, and the moment when he got Boyd pinned under him. 

He'd already been hurt by that time, but he hadn't felt it at all. He'd been too focused on getting Boyd under control, under him... Jesus Christ. He feels like he could come without even touching himself. He needs to remember not to get this high again, at least not when there are no girls around. 

"You can take care of that, if you want," Boyd says, his voice sounding oddly muffled, like Raan has cotton balls in his ears. 

"What?" Raylan asks, thinking he wants him to finish up the bandage. But when he looks down, it's already on there, neatly taped and clean, and Boyd is running fresh water in the tub.

"I mean... if you want to jerk off, I don't care. It's funny, though. You got some kinda pain fetish?"

"No," Raylan says, but it occurs to him that might be a good explanation, since he has no others. "Maybe. Not that I ever knew about before."

Boyd is stripping off his underwear and stepping into the tub, so Raylan gets up, starts to hobble over to the door. 

"Sit down, Raylan," Boyd says, his voice soft now. He looks over with hazy eyes. "Wait 'til I get out, then I'll help you. I don't want it to start bleeding again, I'll have to change it."

Raylan hesitates, but eventually sits back down. He was hoping to go and take care of his little problem, like Boyd said. He doesn't want to do it in here, but he's not sure he can help it much longer. 

He looks over at Boyd, relaxed and leaning back in the bath, eyes closed. His arms are resting on the edges of the tub, hands loosely curled over the sides. As Raylan watches, he lets one of them slide off into the water. 

Raylan can't see what's happening from where he's sitting, but he can see Boyd's shoulder muscles working, slowly, and he can hear the water lapping gently against the side of the tub. 

He opens his mouth to say something, to ask, but he feels like his voice will betray him somehow. He doesn't want to feel exposed, even though Boyd is exposing himself, in a way. 

Raylan reaches under the robe and takes himself in hand, finally. The relief just from being able to touch it is almost enough. Boyd is still stroking lazily, as far as he can tell, and he knows he probably shouldn't be watching, but he can't pull his eyes away. 

He can see Boyd's face in profile, eyes still closed, mouth hanging slightly open. Boyd lets out a small sound - _ahh_ \- and starts moving faster. 

Raylan pulls up with his own hand, and the feeling, after being hard for so long without being able to touch, is incredible, almost excruciating, and he wants to yell out. Instead he just huffs out a hard breath, which is more than he had wanted to do, because now Boyd's eyes are open and he's looking at Raylan. 

Boyd meets his eyes, but he doesn't stop what he's doing, and neither does Raylan. They don't look away, and Raylan feels a little like he's playing chicken. He's never lost a game of chicken in his life, but it's also hard to imagine Boyd losing one, so he doesn't know what's going to happen. 

Boyd is breathing heavier now, and he says, "I know you were hard when we were fighting, Raylan." 

Raylan freezes then, feels himself starting to go red, and then Boyd says, "I was too. I don't think you noticed, though." He's still stroking himself, but Raylan stays perfectly still, his dick quivering under his hand. He'd been close when Boyd had said that. _Why_ would he say that?

"Don't stop," Boyd says, "I didn't mean to make you stop. I ain't stopping."

"I can see that," Raylan replies, wanting it to come out sounding sarcastic, but it comes out as a whisper instead. His vocal chords must be shot from all the weed. He clears his throat and tries again. "This is kinda weird, don't you think?"

"It's... fuck it, Raylan, I don't want to talk. I want to get off, don't you? Talk later," he says, his voice close to desperate. "Come on, man." Boyd suddenly stands up, water running off of him, and sits on the edge of the tub so Raylan can see him. He can see everything. 

They're facing each other directly now, and Boyd tugs at his cock, eyes on Raylan's face mostly, but glancing down from time to time. Raylan can't see the point of pretending he doesn't want to do this. 

He looks away from Boyd's face and stares at what's going on in his lap. He has the strangest desire to touch it, even to put it in his mouth, try to suck him off. He's never thought about that before, but the idea makes his dick twitch against his stomach.

He starts pumping now, trying to match Boyd's rhythm. When he looks back at Boyd's face, it holds a sort of awed smile, and he nods at Raylan. Suddenly his strokes get shorter, jerkier, and the smile goes slack as the come shoots out over his hand, onto his abdomen. 

Raylan watches him come, watches it happen, and it's all he can take. He squeezes his eyes shut and still all he sees is Boyd, under him in the trees, and he sees himself holding the boy down and kissing him. That's what he should have done. That's what he'd wanted to do. Now he knows. 

He comes with that running through his brain, that picture in his head, and it feels like his whole body is coming, it's so intense. That's probably the weed, he knows, but it sort of feels like it's because of Boyd too. 

When he opens his eyes, Boyd is standing close to him, leaning against the wall. Raylan stands up, putting most of the weight on his good leg, and presses a kiss to Boyd's mouth. It feels like something he's been waiting forever to do, even though he never knew it was something he wanted until a few minutes ago.

Boyd takes him by the elbow, draws him in gently, and they stay like that for a few minutes, leaning into each other. 

After some time, Boyd straightens up and pulls Raylan's arm around his neck. "Can you walk?" he asks, his voice low and a little shaky. 

Raylan nods once, and lets Boyd help him out of the bathroom and down the hall. He opens the door to his bedroom - Raylan has been in there before, once, when Boyd wanted to lend him a book. There's a narrow single bed, and Boyd lowers him onto it, sits next to him, still naked. 

"You want, I can take the couch," Boyd says, not looking at him. 

Raylan's mouth pulls up on one side, in a kind of wry grin. "Not much point in that now, is there?" he says. 

"Well, that would be my position on the matter, but I wouldn't presume to speak for you, Raylan." 

Raylan doesn't answer, but he pulls back the blankets and lifts his legs into the bed. Boyd follows him and slides in close, pulling the covers over them. The bed is small, and there's only one pillow. They rest their heads next to each other, and Boyd wraps his arm around Raylan, pushing forward to kiss him gently. 

Raylan lets his lips part to give him access, and their tongues slide together. He's still buzzing from the pot and from coming so hard, and it feels like there are extra nerves everywhere. He shivers and grabs onto Boyd's hip under the sheet. He runs his thumb hard over the knob of bone he feels there, and Boyd hitches into him. 

He doesn't know what he should be doing, can't think, so he just holds him there, feels him growing against his stomach, kisses him more urgently. Boyd reaches down to touch him, and he gasps when he feels Boyd's hand, slightly cold, come around him. 

Boyd's hand is moving over him, slow, and Raylan keeps his grip tight on him. Their mouths have strayed from each other's lips and are running over jaws and temples, tongues tasting salt and leftover earth behind their ears, lips pressing against their necks. 

"Nngh," Boyd grunts through clenched teeth, as he rocks his body against Raylan's, his hand never stopping or slowing.

Raylan is close again, so soon after the last time, and he's beyond words even though his mind is racing. He utters only short moans, coming on the ends of hard breaths, and when Boyd crushes their mouths together again, he loses it, coming hot into Boyd's fist with a long groan. 

Boyd is still pushing at him, obviously trying to get there. Raylan moves his hand around to the back of his thigh, slides it up and presses a finger in, rubbing it against his hole. He hopes it won't piss him off.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Boyd cries, and Raylan feels his come sliding between them. 

Boyd lowers his head to rest against Raylan's chest, and they let their breathing return to normal. Raylan combs his fingers through Boyd's hair and thinks about nothing at all. 

"How'd you know to do that, Raylan?" Boyd asks, sounding almost suspicious.

Raylan laughs quietly and says, "What are you asking me, Boyd? Naw, I just thought it might feel good. Call it instinct."

"If you say so," he replies, amusement in his voice, and something else too. "Would you think it was weird if I said I'm glad those girls didnt make it over here tonight?"

"I think I'd be hurt if you didn't," Raylan says lightly. He takes Boyd's face in his hand and lifts it so he can kiss him again. "If you get up for a washcloth I might even think about doing this again in the morning."

Boyd grins and goes out of the room, then returns a few moments later with a damp cloth, swiping at his abdomen. He folds it and hands it to Raylan, then pushes back the covers and frowns. 

"Shit, Raylan, it looks like it opened up again. The bandage is almost soaked through. Didn't it hurt? You should have said."

Raylan finishes wiping himself off and shakes his head. "Didn't feel a thing."

Boyd takes the rag and leaves again, returning with more gauze and tape. He replaces the bandage, taking care not to hurt him too much, then throws the old one away and turns out the light.

They huddle under the covers again, this time with Raylan facing away and Boyd's arm holding him securely across the chest and his lips smiling into the top of his spine. Raylan falls asleep feeling that, and he feels genuinely content for the first time in his conscious memory.


End file.
